Ghost
by SepticLovebite
Summary: She didn't understand. She wasn't dead, she was certain. Because there was no way she could feel this much pain, this much loss, if she were anything but alive.


Author's Note: Thank you for all your lovely reads and reviews and welcome to new readers!

Her lips felt sandpaper and even though her mouth was drier than the desert, Carol still tried to lick some moisture onto them. She wasn't sure how long it had been, since the Walkers had managed to get into the prison, but she had slept a couple of times, albeit fitfully and the gnawing sensation in her stomach was becoming painful. It had to have been over a day, two most likely.

After T-Dog had thrown himself to the Walkers to save her, she had managed to get outside but the yard wasn't one she was familiar with. It was littered with Walkers. She was forced to jet back inside and take off down another dark corridor.

Carol had found safety in a tiny storage cupboard, dark and damp and it was completely devoid of anything that could be used as a weapon. The Walkers didn't give up trying to get it, not for hours upon hours. She kept peeking out to see if they disappeared but she never got more than a few feet forward before she was chased back inside.

She thought she was going to die. She was almost ready to throw herself into the Walkers, take her chances. She had no clue where she was but she knew she was far from the cell block where they had been living. No-one was coming for her.

She took off down the corridor, one Walker, dressed in riot gear ambled towards her and just as she sucked in a breath to run past it, she spotted the baton hanging from it's belt.

She charged like a bull, slamming it into the wall, she wrapped her hands around it's neck and smashed it's head into the concrete with all her might, until it's skull smashed open and it finally stopped resisting her, slumping to the ground.

Carol tugged the baton free and plowed onwards, knocking heads off left, right and centre, not caring if the Walkers fell, just wanting to get out of there.

She saw the exit, light shining through the bars and she pushed herself on harder, sprinting towards it. Mercifully, it opened, albeit rustily and she snuck a look to see what was out there.

She heard a Walker come up behind her, it's head partially severed by her baton and she took a step into the early morning light, she could tell, by the coolness of the air, squinting as her eyes adjusted and slammed the door behind her.

The yard was empty. Only bodies lay on the ground and as she surveyed the area she realised that she knew where she was. There wasn't far to go.

There was a smell of smoke and she could see the grey wisps curling behind one of the prison buildings. That was good. At least she knew there were others alive and she knew where they could be found, even if it were slightly worrying that the fire came from the exsiting prisoners' block.

As she made her way across the crumbling tarmac, she caught sight of her reflection in the window of an outbuilding and jerked back in horror. She looked awful. She was literally covered head to toe in blood. It was splattered all over her clothes and smeared across her face and she lifted a hand to the back of her head, her greying hair was soaked too. She turned her gaze and tried to keep her strides even and steady, lest she spotted from a distance and mistaken for a Walker.

Her fingers fumbled through the cable that held the fence together and she had to stop midway to take out a Walker that shambled it's way to her, missing an arm.

There was grass underfoot now and she revelled in the greenery, as parched as it was in the Georgian heat. Then she looked up. Joy at her escape vanished. Up ahead of her, three crosses stood from the ground, all in a row.

There was nothing left in her stomach to bring, but she retched heartily anyway, doubling over as she tried to control her ragged breathing.

Carol told herself to calm down. She knew T-Dog would be one of the graves. She knew that. But three graves. She had lost three members of her family. Her stomach churned again, but she pushed on, she needed to see the crosses. She needed to know who they were. Not that anyone person dying would be better than the others.

She took a moment to let her heart stop racing so fast and finally her feet managed to unstick themselves from the dirt and took her to the front of the graves.

She saw T-Dog's first, his initial laid out in stones in front of the wooden cross.

"Thank you, my friend." She murmured, reaching forward and brushing a bloody hand across the wood.

She steeled herself to move her eyes over to the next grave and her heart seemed to stop when she realised what the stones spelled out. The letter L. Her knees trembled and collapsed beneath her, sending her almost face down into the dirt.

Her sobs were inhuman, even to her own ears, but she couldn't seem to control them. The tears poured freely and she wailed until she was hoarse, beating her fists into the freshly turned earth, openly mourning the loss of her friend.

Out of the entire group, she had known Lori the longest. She become the closest women in her entire life. Carol owed her so much. She had kept her sane in her darkest moments. Provided her with stability and laughter when she though she would never smile again.

And then she remembered. The baby. The baby was gone too. She heaved once again, thinking of the poor, tiny, wasted life. The baby was a symbol of hope. Would've been. An amazing miracle, a sign that life would begin again. And now it was shattered. A hopeless and empty dream.

She would never get used to losing people. She didn't think she had the strength to look at the final grave. It would be too much. But she managed to shuffle over, on her hands and knees and lift her tired eyes to the top.

Carl. It was Carl. The stones spelled out a C. Her heart broke. Another child gone. It was too much. A little boy. A child soldier. He was gone.

The sobs became silent. There was no energy left in her, she slumped downwards and wondered if she even had the strength to go find the survivors. And then it got her eye. The faintest flutter of white against the brown earth. Tangled up in the stones of letter C, stood a cherokee rose.

The petals were curled up, edged with brown, suggesting it had been there a while. Maybe a day or so. It was the only grave with a flower on it. She was sure there were only two people that understood the meaning of such a flower. If someone wanted to put a flower on a grave, there were plenty more pretty ones, ones that were in greater abundance around the prison. She couldn't even recall ever spotting a cherokee rose in the area.

Two people knew what they symbolised. She was one of them. The grave was hers. The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks. They thought she was dead. _Daryl_ thought she was dead.

Was she dead? Had she been bit? She couldn't be dead. They wouldn't have her grave if they had seen her body. She didn't understand. She wasn't dead, she was certain. Because there was no way she could feel this much pain, this much loss, if she were anything but alive.

But still, her palms dug into the dirt, dry and gritty and she was pulling it up as fast as she could, not caring that there could very well be a corpse underneath, mistaken for her own. The cherokee rose came free from the rocks and blew into the breeze.

Then, she felt fabric. She stopped and tugged slowly. It came away slowly, grimy and creased but she instantly knew what it was. Her scarf. It had been wrapped around her head that day and had gotten torn off by grasping, rotten hands.

She stopped to take a breath. She made to dig on, when she heard the short, sharp whistle.

She'd heard it before. It meant "hurry up" or "it's safe" or "look over here". It belonged to one man. She let the dirt fall between her fingers and turned slowly.

The sun was in her eyes, so the figure was just a shadow, but she could make out the outstretched arm, gun pointed in her direction. Right at her head.

She held her palms upright as she twisted around, pushing up off her knees. She tilted her head, trying to get a better look at her gunman and as her eyes adjusted, she let out a sigh of release.

"Daryl." She breathed.

She took a step forward towards him, arms outstretched. Her legs were weak, she felt she could topple over at any moment. Weak from hunger, exhaustion, sheer relief that she wasn't alone. That she was alive.

His gun wavered, dropped a little. There was a squeal. A little high pitched cry that came from his direction but couldn't have possibly come from his lips. His head tilted downwards briefly and she noticed something cradled in his free arm.

She took another step forward. "It made it." She murmured.

Daryl seemed dumbfounded, his arm dropped right to his side, the gun slipping from his hand and falling to the ground.

Carol lurched forward, because finally, she recognised the bundle in his arm as a baby. Lori's baby. He had dropped the gun, she didn't want him to drop the baby too.

He was stunned. She didn't think she had ever seen such an expression on his face. But she was more concerned about the baby, gurgling happily in the most unlikely guardian's arm, naked save for the grubby shirt bunched around it.

They were just a couple of foot apart and still he hadn't said anything. Just looked at her, slightly slackjawed and bewildered. Like he was seeing a ghost. She kind of felt like she was one.

"They buried you." He uttered finally, head shaking, fingers twitching at his side.

Carol reached forward and closed the gap, reaching out and grasping his fingers in her own. "No. Not me." She shook her head firmly, frantically. "It's not me." She reached her free hand out to the baby, ran her finger over it's chubby cheek, pink and dimpled. The baby cooed at her touch, legs kicking out. "Lori? What happened? Where is everyone?"

Daryl let out a sigh. "You-I thought - you -" He seemed stuck to know what to say, but his fingers twitched inside hers, feet shuffling forward the smallest of distances. He looked down at the baby and back at her face. "She's all there is of Lori now."

Carol sucked in a breath. She knew it, she'd seen the grave. But then her own was there, so how could she be certain? "T-Dog...I couldn't stop it, he got bit..."

"I know." Daryl nodded. "We know."

"He saved me. Let me get away." She murmured. "I thought I would never see sunlight again." She tore her eyes away from the baby to look up to the sky, the sun breaking through clouds.

"I thought you were dead." The words came from his mouth as though he were ashamed of them, he pulled his hand from hers and rested a grimy hand on her neck, making her turn her head down to face him again. "I'm sorry."

She shook off the apology. "But I'm not. I'm okay." Her voice cracked on her last word, her throat sore from being so dry and talking again. She wasn't alright, not really. She could feel the tears welling up again and she was certain her legs would give way beneath her before she could make it back to their cell block. But she was alive. Daryl was alive. The baby was healthy.

"Take her." Daryl held the baby out to her and with her shaking hands she managed to take hold of the little girl, clutching her tight to her chest. He let go of her neck and stepped past her, towards the row of graves.

She gasped as he trampled right over the disturbed earth of hers and ripped the wooden cross from the ground. It took him just a couple of seconds to split the two planks and he tossed them viciously into the heather behind him.

"Daryl."

He didn't answer her, stooping to pick up her muddied scarf. She didn't have a free hand to take it from him, so he looped it around her waist, tying it tight. His hand rested on the knot at her hip and he sighed once more, his breath hitting her cheek as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her temple.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long." She told him quietly, turning her head slightly to look at him.

"Don't do that to me ever again." Daryl's voice was thick and rough. He pulled away and guided her towards the prison block and as they made their way towards the prison cell block, she could see the outlines of Carl and Beth in the distance.

His hand ghosted lightly at the small of her back and they stumbled together slowly, peacefully. It was a painful day already, even though dawn had hardly broken. The most awful day, superceded only by the day that Sophia was found but with the baby's soft skin resting against her chest and Daryl's hand skimming the skin on her back, she had never been more glad to be alive.


End file.
